Hey, Jealousy
by JamiW
Summary: A behind-the-scenes look at season 6, Privilege through Silencer.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is for Heather - Happy Birthday! For the record, this is nowhere near as awesome as the gift she gave me (six weeks early, even!) but hopefully it's at least a decent read. **

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**A/N2: Goes along with the episode "Privilege"**

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**Eames POV**

We worked like a well-oiled machine

Which is a relief because after that last case, the Dockerty case, I was thinking that maybe we've jumped the shark.

As partners, I mean.

As friends...I don't know.

As anything more...well, I gave up on that little fantasy a while ago.

But anyway, now he's back and we've got our groove going and I feel like we have new life.

As partners.

_And_ friends.

But the _more _part is still never going to happen.

I would've liked for it to. I mean, I love him. I've known that for a while.

But I'm a realist and the fact of the matter is that Bobby is too wrapped up in his own little world.

He doesn't have a clue how I feel.

And honestly, I don't think it would matter if he did know.

He's just…behind an impenetrable wall.

A self-imposed prison meant to deny himself any kind of pleasure out of life.

Other than the job, anyway.

For the past month, he's been on a _forced-but-let's-call-it-vacation-time_ sabbatical.

And I've missed him.

Not the him I had to work with on the Dockerty case, but the normal him. He's subtly funny and he smiles at my sarcasm and it's just nice to be around someone who doesn't need an explanation for everything I do and say. He just gets me.

Much better than anyone else.

And believe me, I've been looking. Maybe I wasn't before, but lately…well, I decided it was time. Like I said, I finally realized that as much as Bobby depends on me, a romantic relationship isn't in our future, and since I haven't given up hope _entirely_ on finding someone to love me, I went out on a couple of dates during his time off.

Two dates, to be precise. With two different men.

Both were charming and marginally handsome and somewhat intelligent.

Neither interested me at all.

Both attempted a goodnight kiss.

Neither succeeded.

Not because I'm some kind of prude or anything, and believe me, a little bit of physical affection would be really nice because it's been a long damn time, but…I just can't. Not with either of them. Not when I'd be pretending each were someone else.

Some _one_ in particular.

It was a long month without him at work, and I just wanted him to come back and for us to find our rhythm. But I wasn't sure if that would happen.

So I was worried about his return, considering how things were before he left.

Although we talked during his absence. Not extensively or about anything of importance, but we _did_ talk.

"_Hi. Eames. It's me. Um…Bobby."_

That's what he'd say every single time, as if I wouldn't know the sound of his voice.

Sometimes I'd tease him.

"_I'm sorry, who?" _

And then he'd laugh self-consciously for a moment before asking me how things were going. I'd say _fine_, and then I'd ask about his mother. He'd say _she's the same_ and then there'd be a moment of silence, and that was about it.

But I appreciate that he made the effort to keep the connection alive.

And maybe it was that effort that made his return to work so seamless because I'm telling you, this Harrington case has really felt like old times.

"_As a little girl, I used to dream of living this way,_" I remarked when we entered Lady Harrington's Park Avenue home.

"_It's musty. You see the dead flies in the lamp…fake flowers…I hope you got over that,"_ he replied as a smile played on his lips, and see, that right there is how I ended up falling in love with him.

He can be playful and so damn cute.

A few minutes later, after we finagled our way into Lady Harrington's bedroom, he showed off another example of why I love him.

"_This is how you treat your mother? She's flush, her skin is dry. Eames, we're going to need an ambulance,"_ he stated, his voice filled with concern.

"_You have no right to barge in here and start demanding ambulances,"_ Grant insisted.

"_Shut up," _Bobby fired back.

"_I'd shut up if I were you,"_ I told Grant as I pulled out my phone.

And yeah, it's his commanding presence and his strong desire to do the right thing that gets me.

"_Detectives, get out of my home."_

"_I said to shut up, so sit down and shut up!" _Bobby yelled, and that finally did the trick. Grant backed off, and we got the paramedics to come take care of Lady Harrington.

All of that happened a few days ago. Virginia Harrington made a remarkable recovery, and in the meantime our investigation picked up speed. We learned that Isabel was planning to do an expose on the Harringtons, thus giving motive for someone in the family to want to put a lid on it.

That someone turned out to be Ernest Foley.

Although we didn't know that for sure until we went to Lady Harrington's party. Fortunately, she seemed to have a thing for Bobby, so he turned on the charm and gave her a call, and she invited us to come. It would give us the chance to feel out our two suspects, Grant and Ernest.

"_I'll pick you up at eight,_" Bobby told me as we left the precinct.

I paused for a moment, getting ready to argue that he doesn't have to pick me up, because he's making it sound almost like a date, but when I glanced over at him, I see the half-smile is in place.

_He's having fun with this_, I realized.

Well, good. Him, having fun, is always an unexpected treat, especially lately, so I went along with it.

"_Don't think you can get away with honking the horn. I expect you to come to the door,"_ I joked.

And damn if he didn't.

At seven fifty-five, my doorbell rang, and when I opened it, there he stood, clean-shaven and wearing a different suit.

_"Wow, Eames…that's a nice dress."_

That's not exactly a compliment to _me_, is it?

_"Thanks. Nice suit,"_ I replied, forcing myself to be casual, even though I like the way he's looking at me.

Like he's _actually _seeing me.

_Although what if he doesn't like what he sees_, I wondered, but then I gave myself a mental kick in the ass.

See, that's the problem with us teasing about this being a date. I fooled myself with that misconception, too. I went all out, trying to dress nice for him. And I'll never admit it, but I tried to recreate how I looked on my last date because _that_ guy told me I looked beautiful.

Of course, those are words I'll never hear from Bobby, but still…it was worth a try, right?

Or maybe not. Because I felt a little saddened that he only complimented the dress.

But I got over my disappointment because we're working for God's sake, trying to catch a murderer.

And we did.

Like I said, it was Ernest Foley. And we were able to arrest him on three counts of murder instead of just the two we were originally investigating.

We also managed to make a hell of a scene at Lady Harrington's party, but I don't feel too bad about that.

Her son's a killer. I think our disturbance is the least of her worries.

Anyway, so we sent Ernest with the uniformed officers, and then spoke with Lady Harrington for a few minutes, and then we went out to the SUV.

Bobby's phone rang as we got to the vehicle, so we stood outside for a moment while he answered, and after a brief conversation, he hung up, tucking his phone into his pocket as he looked at me from across the hood.

"It's not going to be tonight," he said. "Ernest has already lawyered up, so the meeting is set up for tomorrow morning."

"That was fast," I remarked.

"That's money," he said with a shrug.

"Well, tomorrow works for me. Today's been long enough."

I climbed into the car, and believe me, it's not easy getting into an SUV in a dress and heels, and I was kind of focused on doing it gracefully, which is how I missed what Bobby said next.

"What?" I asked as I finally pulled the door closed and then buckled my seatbelt.

"I asked if you want to get something to eat," he repeated.

"Dinner?"

"Yeah, that meal you eat at the end of the day," he clarified with a half-smile. "Are you hungry?"

"Um…yeah," I realized.

"So…"

"Yeah, sure," I agreed.

But as he drove us toward whatever destination, I had to ask.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are we going to dinner?"

Because while it's not entirely unusual for us to get a meal together, it _is _strange for him to want to do it at the end of the work day.

And I'll give him points for not feigning ignorance. A_ lot _of points because I was expecting a flippant answer, something about needing sustenance, rather than an honest response to my question.

And I'll give him even more points because I like his answer.

"You're all dressed up. It'd be a shame to take you home already," he said, easing the car to a stop at a red light and then glancing over at me as he added, "You look really nice."

He held my gaze for another beat and then he turned his attention back to the road.

"Thank you," I said, and the awkwardness that draped over the car was like a living entity, and I closed my eyes for a minute as I tried to figure out what in the world we're doing and how we got _here_.

"You think Lady Harrington is going to be alright?" he questioned after a few miles in silence, and then it hit me that maybe we aren't _here_.

Maybe he was just being nice and I was reading way too much into it.

_Note to self: it's time to go on another date. _ And this time, I'll invite the guy in because who the hell cares if I'm thinking about Bobby? No one has to know but me, right?

And maybe if I put an end to my sexual drought, I'll be able to quit seeing _some_thing in everything Bobby says.

Besides, this is who we are, and I've been fine with that until tonight, so I'm not sure how I got sucked back into having hope.

So I took a deep breath and shoved aside my disappointment.

"She's a tough old bird," I responded, pleased that I managed to make my voice sound normal. "I think she'll be fine."

He hummed his agreement and then said quietly, "I'm sorry about…before."

"Did you do something I don't know about?" I asked in an effort to sound playful.

"Our last case. Me, going off the deep end. I should've said something before now, but…I'm sorry."

An apology from Bobby is a rarity, that's for sure, but the fact that he's issuing one makes me immediately let him off the hook. Not that I was harboring any ill will towards him or anything, but I don't want him to worry about it, either.

"You were in an impossible situation," I reasoned.

"Maybe, but I shouldn't have taken any of it out on _you_."

I nodded as he pulled the car into a parking spot along the curb, and then to my surprise, he turned towards me with purpose.

"It's not just that you look nice. I mean, you do, but…I've missed you. And I didn't realize how much until I got back to work. So that's why I asked you to dinner."

For a minute, we just looked at each other and I wish I could read his mind because I just have no idea what he's thinking. And I usually do. Or at least, I usually_ think_ I do. But maybe it's because of his time off, or because we're wading into uncharted territory, I don't know, but I'm completely clueless as to his intentions.

Does he mean he missed me as a _friend_?

But then I gave myself another mental kick in the ass.

Because I'm being ridiculous.

It's no secret that Bobby doesn't have many people in his life that he doesn't have to take care of, so the fact that I'm _one_ of them, one with whom he can just be himself, makes it no surprise that he missed me.

And I really need to stop with the crazy fantasy and just accept our relationship for what it is.

"I'm glad you did," I said at last, and then I smiled and added, "I can fill you in on everything you missed while you were gone. You know, how the captain was lost without you to yell at, and…"

I trailed off as he started laughing, and the tension was once again gone from the car. Hell, it was probably only there in my mind anyway, since I'm the one living in make-believe-land.

We went into the restaurant and spent the next couple of hours eating and talking and laughing, and it was so nice, being back in rhythm again. It was fun, like how we used to be before.

"This was a great idea," I told him later, as he pulled up in front of my building.

"Well, I realized something while I was out," he began, and I'd had my hand on the door handle, but I let go and turned towards him when I realized he was going to say something more than just goodnight.

"I've taken you for granted," he continued. "And I've never once told you how important you are, how much I need you in my life."

"Bobby," I replied, preparing to dismiss his words, more to protect myself than anything, but he kept going.

"And not just at work. I mean, all the time. So, I'm kind of hoping that maybe tonight won't be a one-time thing. That maybe we'll have dinner again. Soon."

I couldn't stop the sarcastic response, because let's face it. Smart ass is what I do.

"I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I'll be having dinner again tomorrow night."

"I meant with _me_," he said as his hand reached out to briefly touch mine.

"Are you asking me on a date?" I asked challengingly, and I fully expected him to back off.

Because we've come close to doing this dance a time or two. My fantasies aren't _completely_ based on nothing.

But he's never managed to follow through, which told me that it was flirtation out of habit or proximity as opposed to any real interest.

But as we sat there in the car staring at each other, his lips quirked into a smile and he said, "Um…yeah, I am."

And my heart started pounding in my chest, so loudly that I almost couldn't hear my own response.

Not that I_ need_ to hear the words.

I certainly know what they are.

"Okay. Yes."

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Bobby POV**

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I don't know what I'm doing.

I wish I did.

Not that I've ever really been one to follow rules, but…in this case, I wish there were a rule book.

Or at the very least, a few guidelines because no matter how good at this I once was – and I was _very _good at it – now I'm a stranger in a strange land.

Because I'm not only dating, but dating my partner.

It started off simply enough.

We went to dinner, after the Harrington case.

And I don't know what made me finally ask her. There've been a number of times over the years when I felt a closeness with her, and I had the urge to ask her out, but I always held back because…well, because she's Eames. She's too good for me.

But after the party at Lady Harrington's, I couldn't stop myself.

Probably because she looked _so_ pretty. I mean, I _know_ she's pretty. I've known that since day one, but sometimes it hits me harder than others.

And that night it hit me hard.

Probably because it was capping off our first case together after my leave, and the entire month I was out of work, I was thinking about her. Not in any kind of perverted sense, but just in general. I'm so used to having her around that when I have a thought, I want her opinion on it, or when I see something questionable, I wait for her cynical observation.

I just like being with her.

Several times during my absence, I thought about asking her out. Not like a _date _date, but just to get a meal on the pretense of catching up.

But every time I called her, it just didn't feel like the right time.

And then one Friday night I drove to her place, thinking I'd do a casual pop-in.

Big mistake.

What I got was the sight of her, getting into some guy's car.

She was going on a date.

_With someone other than me._

I immediately ran the guy's plates.

Todd Markham.

I considered following them, but even I could see the crazy in that thought, so instead I went home. And thought about Eames on her date.

How would it end?

Would she invite him into her home?

Into her bed?

I had absolutely no idea because I don't know that side of Eames. She says I keep things close, but so does she. Hell, she could be bordering on engaged to this Todd guy and I wouldn't have any idea until she shows up at work sporting a diamond ring.

Not even then, because I still wasn't _at _work.

The thought had me in a complete panic, and it took me a few hours to settle down and analyze my feelings.

And yeah, so I didn't start analyzing until after I did a complete background check on Todd Markham.

No arrests…two speeding tickets in the five-year history…ten years at the same employer, some investment firm on Broad.

_ A numbers guy….really, Eames? That's the kind of guy you like? _

Anyway, once I amassed a dossier on Markham, I spent some time picking apart my emotional state until I was finally able to put a label on it: jealousy.

I don't want Eames dating this guy.

I want Eames dating_ me_.

It's crazy, I know, because she can do so much better than me. Obviously. I mean, Todd Markham held open the car door for her. He touched her on the arm. He smiled at her. When's the last time I smiled at her? Or told her how much I appreciate everything she does for me?

No, I don't do any of that. I just take out my frustrations on her and leave her hanging with the boss and bite her head off when she tries to help.

So to say I had an epiphany during my time off would be fairly accurate.

And I wasn't sure if it would actually work. Asking her out, I mean. I don't know if Eames would ever be interested in me, on a personal level, but I made up my mind that I was going to have to try.

Otherwise, it'll be the biggest regret of my life.

So when I went back to work, I checked my attitude at the door. It's certainly not Eames' fault my mom is sick. It's not my fault either. It's just part of my life right now, and it doesn't have to override everything else.

And maybe I'm over-simplifying it, thinking that my mother's illness might be the only snag in my pursuit of Eames, but I hope not.

I hope I can be the kind of man who can make her happy.

Anyway, the Harrington case went smoothly, and we hit our stride again.

And after the arrest of Ernest Foley…well, like I said, she looked so pretty that I wanted to keep looking at her. Which is why I asked her out for dinner.

It hurt a little that she was surprised by the invitation. _It's because I've done such a good job of shutting her out_, I reminded myself.

Why, I have no idea because I actually_ like _myself when I'm with her, so why wouldn't I want to spend all of my time with her?

Anyway, we had a nice meal, and then I pushed it further, asking her out on a real date, and she said yes.

That was a week ago, so maybe it's premature of me to say I'm dating my partner, but…that's what I'm going to call it.

It was last Saturday night. Our first date.

I was a little worried about getting a call-out, since we were between cases, but the whole thing went smoothly and neither of our phones rang.

"_This is nice,"_ I said to her as we finished off a bottle of wine. "_I haven't been on a date in…well, it feels like forever."_

And yeah, my comment was meant to provoke a response from her. I wanted to see if she'd admit to going out a couple of weeks ago.

"_I know what you mean,_" she answered, and I felt a flash of disappointment over her dishonesty, and then I felt annoyance with myself because I shouldn't have been _stalking _her in the first place, and then she spoke again. "_Although I did have a couple of dates not too long ago. While you were out on leave."_

"_Oh, really?"_ I asked innocently as relief and curiosity washed through me.

"_Yeah, but it was…not what I expected."_

"_How so?"_

"_I was bored,"_ she said after a moment's deliberation, and I'll admit it. I love that answer. Because I know I have my flaws – a _lot_ of them – but I'm pretty sure I'm not boring.

"_Thanks for the heads-up. I'll make sure to keep you entertained,_" I replied.

She looked at me curiously, like she's trying to figure me out, and then she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, clearly debating her next words.

"_What?_" I asked.

"_I'm just…seeing another side of you."_

"_Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?"_

She held my gaze for so long, her expression completely inscrutable, that for a second, I was afraid she was going to toss her napkin on the table and walk away.

"_It's a good thing,"_ she said at last.

I surreptitiously let out the breath I'd been holding, and then we shifted the topic of conversation, and the rest of the evening went really well.

So well in fact that I debated kissing her goodnight.

And I don't mean that I was deciding whether or not I _wanted_ to.

I very much wanted to.

But I wasn't sure how receptive she'd be, and aside from that, it still felt a little strange, getting to know her on such a personal level after working together for so long.

And maybe that doesn't sound right.

I _know_ Eames.

I know her favorite color and what music she likes to listen to and how she hates when the alarm goes off in the morning. I know her favorite food and how she takes her coffee and that she has a secret passion for angst-filled romance movies.

But I don't know how it feels to kiss her.

Well, I didn't then.

I do now.

And I can't help but smile just thinking about it.

It wasn't on that first date, but the next one, on the following night.

That's when I kissed her.

She'd invited me for dinner at her place, so we spent the evening eating a great meal and watching The Notebook, and then she walked me to the door.

"_If you tell anyone I cried…"_ she began, and then she trailed off, leaving her threat implied. But she was smiling as she said it, so I had to tease her.

"_Oh, I've already texted everyone in Major Case,"_ I said with feigned innocence, holding out my cell phone and jiggling it in front of her.

She barked out a dubious laugh, but then went serious for a moment.

"_What is it?_" I asked.

"_I was just thinking…what kind of trouble will we be in if someone finds out about us?"_

And it's crazy, but as worried as I feel about that exact thing, I also love that she said _us_.

Like there _is_ an us.

"_No more than my usual trouble,"_ I responded and she held my gaze as she nodded slowly.

"_So we're really doing this?"_

"_I think so."_

I was going to say more, but words escaped me as I looked at her, standing so close and looking so small and vulnerable and…well, pretty. Again.

So that's when I made my move.

I leaned down – very slowly in case she needed time to pull her gun – and then I pressed my lips against hers, experimentally at first but then as she made some kind of little sound of approval, I wrapped my arms around her and went at it with much more conviction.

Several long, glorious minutes passed before I finally pulled back.

"_I'd better go_," I said, using will power I didn't know I had.

Because I certainly didn't _want_ to go.

But I'm not going to rush things with Eames. I can't afford to screw it up.

"_Are you sure?"_ she asked, smiling a little as she ran a shaky hand through her hair. It gave my ego quite the boost to see her so effected by the kiss.

"_Not really, no,"_ I admitted, chuckling self-consciously as I reached for her hand. _"But I don't want to rush it, and have us miss out on any important steps."_

We kissed again and then I left on the promise of seeing her at work the next morning.

Then I thought about her all the way home.

It's funny how our dynamic has shifted so dramatically, so suddenly.

_And so effortlessly_, I thought.

All because I was brave enough to ask her to dinner. Does that mean she's just been waiting for me to say something? Or is she just going along for the ride?

No, Eames doesn't play games.

And kissing her felt so unbelievably natural, like we've kissed thousands of times before. There's no way it was that good without there being feelings involved.

I went to sleep that night thinking about her, and it wasn't until the next morning that I panicked a little, wondering how we'd be at work together after our display of affection the night before.

But we were great.

Of course, we were only doing paperwork since we hadn't been assigned another case yet, but still…we were really, really great all week long.

Friday night – last night – we went out again.

Our third date.

It was almost by unspoken agreement that we'd get together since the weekend had arrived. I think she was looking forward to it as much as me.

"_Tonight?_" I asked as the work day neared an end.

"_Sure,"_ she agreed quickly.

"_You want to come over? I'll cook,_" I offered. "_And I'll rent you one of those tear-fests."_

_ "Ha ha,_" she retorted smartly.

_"So that's a yes?"_

_ "I'll bring the wine."_

So we spent the evening on my sofa, and unlike last weekend, last night we barely watched any of the movie.

I'd planned to. Really. But as soon as we sat down on the couch – close, so that our legs were touching – I had the urge to kiss her, and just as the thought crossed my mind, she turned to look at me with those golden eyes and I could smell her – shampoo or lotion or something – and I couldn't stop myself.

She didn't seem to mind.

In fact, after a few minutes, she moved onto my lap, helping to negate our height difference while at the same time making my arousal shoot through the roof.

And I'll be honest. I had no idea that Eames was so…sexual.

For years, I never thought of her in that sense. She's just a great partner and a wonderful person and…my friend.

But since I started looking at her differently, I still never considered how much passion she was keeping locked up inside of her, but _now _I'm thinking about it because I seem to be the one holding the key.

Of course, I'm feeling more amorous than I have in years, too, so it seems like she holds a certain power over me, too. Which is fine.

If there's anyone I trust with my life, love and sanity, it's Eames.

So last night we made out like teenagers. There was a whole lot of touching going on, but all on the outside of the clothes, and as incredible as it felt, it made me wonder how much longer I'll be able to hold out.

Fortunately, I think she's right there with me.

"_Maybe the next date, we won't worry about getting a movie,"_ she said playfully as she got ready to leave.

"_You want to go out somewhere instead?_" I teased.

"_No. I want to stay in."_

There's no bullshitting with Eames.

"_Tomorrow night?"_

"_It's a date."_

But then this morning, we got a call for a new case. A judge was murdered while participating in a re-enactment, out on Governors Island, and Eames and I made an agreement that we should put off dates while we're in the middle of an active investigation.

At least for now. We'll have to play it by ear as to whether or not that's a good idea.

Anyway, we went out to the island and worked the scene. I found myself getting sucked into the thrill of the chase, and I didn't pick up on the fact that Eames was a little off until she said something about it.

"You think she could've been a little more obvious?"

"What? Who?" I asked distractedly as we headed back to the car.

"Your ballistics expert."

"_My_ ballistics expert?" I repeated, and that's when it hit me that I'd missed something.

"I think if you'd given her a few more minutes, she would've told you how Oswald pulled off the shot from the sixth floor of the book depository."

I barked out a laugh, and then realized she was still looking at me with a blank expression.

"Are you serious? You think she was flirting with me?"

"I know she was."

"And you're…jealous?" I asked in surprise.

She held my gaze for another beat, and then sighed heavily.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"I wasn't thinking about anything but this case," I assured her.

"Okay."

"And Eames," I said as I leaned over, crowding myself into her personal space. "You have no reason whatsoever to be jealous."

But I like that she is. That has to mean something, right? It means that she cares about what happens with us, and she doesn't like the idea of someone else infringing upon her territory. Meaning _me. _

Yeah, I definitely like that.

"Sorry," she said apologetically as we hesitated outside the vehicle. "I shouldn't have let it bother me. We're working. And this case…it's going to be difficult enough, isn't it? The media is going to have a field day."

"Uh huh," I said with a nod. "So what do you think of Maureen Pagolis?"

"You mean do I think she has something to do with the judge's murder? No, definitely not."

Although I'm not so sure.

For the next few days, Eames and I butted heads a little over the case.

"_How come Maureen stays married to Pagolis no matter how many times he cheats on her, or gets indicted,"_ she said in irritation.

"_Like my mother would say, you know, if she stays in it, she must be getting something out of it."_

"_Maybe Maureen's loyal to a fault."_

That snippet stuck in my head because I kind of wondered if we were talking about the two of us.

Eames stays with me no matter how many times I treat her badly or get her into trouble…and maybe she's loyal to a fault.

But that would also mean that she thinks she's getting something out of our partnership, right?

I hope so.

And I hope that my attempt to turn over a new leaf is making her not depend so much on loyalty. Like maybe she's staying because she _wants_ to.

Of course, maybe she really _was_ only talking about Maureen, who knows?

Anyway, I like how we've been working the case, in the sense that we're still honest with each other, even if we disagree.

But I _don't_ like it because we're working so much that there's no down-time for us to make sure we're still okay with each other.

And as new as this thing between us is, that's a little disconcerting.

So it was kind of nice when a turn in our investigation gave us an evening out.

"You've probably noticed that we have a tail on Mr. Pagolis," I told Dave O., the chauffeur. "It's only a matter of time."

"Fine then. Tell your guys to stick close. It's Wednesday night. Mr. Pagolis? He's a creature of habit."

He got in his car, so I turned to Eames and found her looking at me with the closest thing to a smile I've seen in days.

"You got plans for the night?" she asked.

I hesitated for a moment, thinking of what I'd like to be doing rather than tailing Pagolis, and then _that_ thought caught me off guard. Since when do I think about my personal life before a case?

_Since last weekend,_ I decided.

"Bobby?" she questioned.

"I was just thinking about what kind of plans I'd like to have for tonight," I admitted.

"Tailing a slime-ball player while he cheats on his wife doesn't float your boat?" she teased, but I also noticed that her smile got bigger.

"Maybe we reconsider our no-dating-during-a-case rule."

"Maybe," she agreed. "But tonight…"

"Yeah, I know."

We sat outside the restaurant where Pagolis and his lady friend were having dinner, and I'll admit it.

My mind was on Eames.

"You ready to go in? They're finishing up," she said, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Yeah," I said, but when I didn't make any move to get out of the car, she turned back and looked at me, and I have no excuse for what I did next.

I kissed her.

"Sorry," I said unremorsefully when I pulled back after the brief yet intense display.

"No you're not," she said with a grin.

"You're right. I'm not."

"Are you ready _now_?" she asked in amusement.

"Yeah, let's go."

That was Wednesday night.

On Thursday, we had to interview Maureen again. I know it's upsetting to Eames, to see her role model going through such a difficult time, but we still have to go where the leads take us.

And the further we went, the more it seemed like Maureen wasn't as clueless as she claimed.

And I know Eames isn't mad at_ me _about the way things are shaping up, but I still feel like we're not quite right, and I'd like to be able to comfort her, to show her that I understand her feelings.

But there just hasn't been time. Or at least, not for anything more than sympathetic looks.

She deserves more than that.

I want to give her more than that.

But first we brought in Pagolis for an interview, and that's when we learned that Maureen was bugging her husband.

Highly unethical and illegal, but getting her to admit it might be difficult.

"She probably won't own up to having them," Ross reasoned.

"Well, tell her if she doesn't, then we'll subpoena them and we'll leak it to the press."

"So Pagolis kills the judge out of jealousy and we persecute her for taping him?" Eames asked in annoyance.

"Something like that," Ross stated.

But it's not just the tapes. Why would Pagolis use his own phone to set up a hit, knowing it was being recorded?

I hated to even suggest it, but what if Maureen is involved in this even more than we thought?

Of course, when I hinted at it, Eames clammed up.

She probably knows I'm right to suggest it, but it doesn't make it any easier for her to take.

We decided to go back to the hotel restaurant, to talk to the coat-check girl, and Eames was quiet throughout the drive.

"You know this isn't how I want for this to go," I said softly.

"You've been looking at her from the beginning," she retorted.

"I've been looking at everyone," I clarified. "You were trying _not_ to look at her."

"You think I let my judgment get clouded?"

"I'm not saying that."

"Then you're saying…what?"

"I'm saying sometimes it's tough to consider that someone you admire could be capable of bad things."

She didn't respond, and I didn't say anything more, but when we got into the hotel bar and found that we'd have some time to kill, I promptly ordered a Scotch.

Eames was on the phone with Ross, getting an update about the tapes, but I was ready to just be done with the case because I don't like this tension between us. I want to get back to how we were last Friday night – on my couch with her in my lap and my hands all over her.

"Vodka martini, double, easy on the vermouth," she told the bartender as soon as she hung up the phone.

_She's definitely looking for a respite from the reality of the case, too. _

"That was the captain," she said. "He threatened to go public and she caved on the tapes. You happy now?"

"I want Pagolis to go down, but not if he didn't do it."

"Either way she'll go down now. You know this'll leak out. Her career's ruined."

"Well then she shouldn't have bugged him. She should've left him."

She dropped her gaze, looking down at the bar, and I know she knows I'm right, but sometimes being right isn't enough.

"Are we alright?" I asked, and I love that it only took a second for her to meet my gaze as a slow smile spread across her face, and I know I keep saying it, but she's just _so pretty_.

"I hope so," she said with a nod.

I let out a relieved breath that I didn't know I'd been holding.

_I hope so, too_, I thought.

And I hope the coat-check girl never shows.

I could sit here and stare at her all night.

Or better yet, get us a room and go upstairs…

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**Alex POV**

* * *

We seemed to share a moment in the bar.

Because come on. Since when does Bobby worry about me in the middle of a case?

Of course everything I've seen from him in the past two weeks says he's grown.

Changed.

In a good way.

And last Friday night...oh my God, I can't believe I left his place with my drought still in effect. Because I wanted him _so_ badly.

And for the first time since we met, I think he wants me just as much.

It's a heady feeling.

So as we sat in the bar, almost a week after our hormone-laden make-out session, just his expression is giving me a fluttering feeling in my stomach and my pulse is racing and I decided that I don't really care who killed Judge Layton.

I mean I _do,_ but...I don't know.

I think I'd be just fine spending the next few days holed up in a hotel room with Bobby.

But then Maisy showed up, and by unspoken agreement, we forced ourselves to be professionals. And the information she gave us...well, it sent us on the path to solution.

I guess my sex drive has to stay in neutral for the time being.

So we brought in Dave and as expected, he admitted to culpability in the deaths of the judge and the sniper. However, it was frustrating to know that we still couldn't charge Pagolis with anything.

But Maureen was another story.

"You should go to her. See if she can fill in any gaps about Dave O," Ross instructed.

Meaning see if she'll confess to knowing what he was about to do.

So in spite of the early morning hour, we went to her house, and seeing her like that, without her polish, without her armor…it was humbling.

And very sad.

We took Maureen in for processing, and once we started the paperwork, Ross said that he'd handle it, presumably since we were dealing with such a high-profile figure. I've learned that about him already. He enjoys crossing the finish line and accepting credit for the solves, but that's fine.

He can have this one.

We left the precinct and Bobby took me home, choosing to drive again in an odd swapping of duties, but I don't mind at all.

It's kind of nice to let him take over once in a while.

Besides, I'm just so tired.

And maybe a little disenchanted.

"You okay?" he asked softly as he pulled the car over in front of my place.

We'd stayed quiet throughout the drive, and I appreciate his understanding that I wasn't really in the mood for platitudes.

I leaned my head back against the seat, letting out a heavy sigh as I turned to look at him.

"Yeah," I answered.

He reached out and covered my hand with his, where it rested on my thigh.

"Are you sure? Because, it's okay if you're not. I mean, if you want to talk about it…"

Is it any wonder why I love this Bobby?

He's so sweet and caring, and just the feel of his hand on mine has made that fluttering sensation come back to my stomach, and suddenly it doesn't seem like such a big deal that I no longer have Maureen Pagolis to look up to.

I don't _need_ her.

I just need _him_.

"I'm fine, I promise," I told him.

He held my gaze for another beat and then smiled that mischievous little boy smile as he asked, "So do you want to go out tonight? I can come back later and pick you up."

Interesting question.

Three weeks ago, a date with Bobby was an impossible dream.

And now it just feels so natural.

Only I don't want to go out tonight.

There's something else I want to do instead.

"No," I told him.

He looked at me with surprise and disappointment as he said, "No?"

I turned my hand over beneath his, so that our palms were touching and I could clasp my fingers through his.

"I want you to come in with me now."

I guess he wasn't expecting me to say that because it took nearly a full minute for him to respond, but once my words sunk in, he smiled broadly.

"You're not even going to make me buy you dinner first?" he teased, sounding slightly excited yet anxious. "Or breakfast…something?"

"You've bought me plenty of meals. Come on."

So we went inside.

And maybe it's not the traditional next step, but there isn't much about us that's traditional, so just because it's eleven o'clock in the morning, and we've been working all night, doesn't mean it's not the perfect time for our first time.

Because I think we've waited long enough.

"So, um…" he began once we were inside my place. He took a few steps towards the kitchen and then backtracked, only to repeat the action again and I couldn't help but smile at his nervousness.

And I don't know why I'm _not_ nervous.

I should be.

Because this is Bobby.

He's who I've been wanting for so long, and this is a hell of a next step.

But at the same time, this is Bobby.

We've worked together seamlessly on a regular basis for years, so _this_…this should be piece of cake.

"You might want to save some of that energy," I said playfully as he started lap number five in the small foyer area. I busied myself by removing my jacket, gun and badge, and when he noticed what I was doing, he came over to do the same.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm just…this is…I…"

I typically find his stammering endearing, but I still put an end to it by kissing him. He was only halfway out of his jacket when I started the kiss, and he seemed to lose track of what he was doing, so I helped him along, grabbing onto the sleeves and tugging downward until his jacket fell to the floor.

With that out of the way, I went to work on his tie while continuing to move my mouth over his, and after another moment, he found his confidence. As I pulled the silk from around his neck, he moved his hands up to my cheeks, holding me in place as he stepped into me, pressing his body against mine while deepening the kiss, and I got lost in my senses – the taste of him, and the feel of his hands and lips, the scent of his soap and cologne...it's so much better than any dream I've ever had.

And I've had some good ones. Quite a few, actually, since last Friday night.

But as anxious to get to it as I was when we first arrived, I like that he's not rushing it now.

We stood in the foyer and kissed for I don't know how long, and he untucked my blouse so that he could slide his hands beneath the fabric, along the small of my back, but other than that, we didn't take it any further.

But I can _feel_ him against me, and every time our bodies shift and he rubs against me, it makes me even hotter on the inside and as much as I like the idea of taking our time, I'm not sure how much longer I can wait.

I mean, I didn't want to wait the whole week between last Friday and now.

And it's not that I'm the type to jump into bed with someone, but like I've said, this is Bobby.

We wouldn't be _here_, letting it go this far, if we weren't both serious about it.

I slipped one hand between us and pressed it against him, and I'm not sure which of us groaned louder at the contact because I can easily feel him through the thin fabric of his slacks, and he's so unbelievably hard and I've never touched him like this before and now all I want to do is touch him again.

So I did.

His lips faltered when I did it a third time, and the next thing I knew, he was picking me up.

"Bobby," I began in protest, although I don't really mean it.

I've got my legs wrapped around him, and his hands are holding my butt and he's still kissing me as he's walking towards the bedroom, so what's there to protest?

Not one damn thing.

When he got to the edge of the bed, he put me back on my feet and then started unbuttoning my blouse.

And his hands were shaking.

I'm not sure why, but seeing that really touched me. A lot. In fact, it brought tears to my eyes because this is just so tremendously monumental and he _gets_ that.

So I stood still and held his gaze while he finished with the buttons, although on the inside I was a trembling mass of nerves and anticipation and good old-fashioned arousal, and as he swept the blouse from my arms, I had the overwhelming urge to just tell him.

_I love you, Bobby. _

But I'm not going to tie _that _into _this_.

And I know, it's supposed to be tied together.

But I also know Bobby, and he'll think I'm saying it because I think I should or because I know it's what he wants to hear or something. Some reason other than that it's the truth because as much as he's changed, I think he still has some issues in the self-worth department.

And as sweet and affectionate as he's been, we haven't really discussed feelings, and I'm pretty sure that a physical example of what we feel will be so much easier for him to accept than hearing the words.

Because he's a cerebral kind of guy.

Us making love is one thing, but me saying those words would send him into an analytical tailspin.

So I didn't say it.

Not with words.

But I have to believe that my touch conveyed the same thing, and God knows the sentiment was on permanent loop in my mind as we finished undressing each other and then laid down on the bed.

And as desperate as I was to finally feel him inside of me, we didn't immediately get right to it.

Because Bobby apparently wanted to spend some time getting to know my body.

I can't say it surprises me.

Actually, it almost made me laugh because it's such a Bobby thing to do, giving in to that investigative instinct.

And I _might've_ laughed if it didn't feel so damn good.

Besides, I'm pretty inquisitive by nature, too, and getting to touch and taste his skin after only imagining it so many times…it was a moving experience.

And those three words kept wanting to slip out.

They almost _did_ when he stretched out over top of me, staring into my eyes with such caring and adoration, hesitating for a moment to stroke his hand over my hair and then leaning down to capture my lips again as he buried himself deep inside of me.

I have no words to express how amazing he feels…how incredible he makes _me_ feel.

The slow, meaningful rhythm…the tender touches…the stirring and passionate kisses…I honestly had no idea that making love could ever feel _this_ good.

None of my past experiences even come close.

And he didn't try to escape afterwards. Instead we lay with our legs tangled together beneath the sheets for a while without either of us saying a word, and it was so relaxing.

"I can't believe you never told me," I said at last.

"Told you what? How much I want you?" he replied as he ran his fingers through my hair, and his words sent yet another jolt of pleasure through me.

"That you're so _good_ at that," I corrected with a smile, turning my face towards his as an answering smile played on his lips.

"You were holding out on me, too. Although I had my suspicions."

"Well, I did, too," I admitted.

"So," he began as he stretched and then pulled me closer to him, kissing along my neck and ear as he continued. "What do we want to do today?"

"We're doing it."

We didn't spend the _entire _weekend in bed, but we were horizontal for a large majority of it.

And I don't know how, but every time was better than the last.

It made me _really_ not want to go to work on Monday morning because I'm a little worried that reality might get in the way.

"Hey, Eames," Bobby called out while I was in the shower, and I started laughing, so he asked, "What?"

I pulled back the curtain and looked at him in amusement.

"Eames? Really? Still?"

He flashed me a guilty smile and then shoved his boxers to the floor and got into the shower with me.

"You want me to call you Alex?" he asked, his voice husky and provocative. He plucked the soap from my hand and worked up a lather and then began rubbing his hands all over me, and _oh my God_…

"Hmm?" he prompted when I didn't respond, and when I sighed, he chuckled lightly, his lips hovering near my ear and his hands still _everywhere_ even though the soap has long-since washed away.

"I don't care what you call me," I managed to say. "Just don't stop doing that."

Somehow we made it to work on time, and since we're between cases, we spent the day at our desks.

"I need to visit my mom tonight," he said quietly as quitting time neared.

"I thought you might," I responded. "Why don't you head on out and I'll finish up?"

He held my gaze for a moment and then gave me a nod and started gathering up the papers on his desk, but then he stopped and glanced around the room before looking back at me and saying, "Can I come over afterwards?"

"You'd better."

But the night didn't go quite as we planned.

Before Bobby could leave, Ross sent us to check out a crime scene, a debate-turned-stampede-turned-dead body.

It took us a few hours to sort through the preliminary mess, and by that time, the dead body turned into a likely murder victim, according to the ME.

"Go," I encouraged Bobby as we left the morgue. "We'll pick this up in the morning, after she's had time to run more tests."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, take the car," I said as I held out the keys.

"Round trip, I probably won't be back until midnight," he stated, and I had to smile as I took in his hopeful expression.

"Yes, I still want you to come over."

He reached for the keys, but instead of taking them, he held onto my hand for a moment, and then after checking to make sure the coast was clear, he kissed me hard.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For being you," he replied affectionately, his fingers still lightly touching mine, and I swear my heart literally skipped a beat. It sounds annoyingly clichéd and schmaltzy, but it's still true.

It was after midnight when Bobby showed up at my place.

"I almost didn't come," he admitted sheepishly as he took off his coat while I stood in the foyer in my pajamas. "It's late."

"Yeah, but then I would've had to go looking for you, and it would've gotten even _later_, and then that would've just pissed me off_,_ so…it's a good thing you showed up."

He flashed me a smile and then pulled me into his arms as he let out a long breath.

"Not one of her better nights?" I asked with understanding.

"So-so," he said vaguely. "But I need to go back up there in the morning, before work."

"Okay," I said immediately, stepping out of his embrace and then taking him by the hand and heading for the bedroom.

"You don't mind?"

"Did you think I would?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "This is all so…new."

"I don't expect you to change your life for me," I reasoned.

"I would," he promised, sending that little flip-flop feeling through me again with his solemnity.

I turned towards him and went back into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"I just want to be part of it, okay?"

"You are. The most important part."

The next morning, Bobby went to his mom's again and I went to work.

I briefed Ross on Rodgers' latest findings, and that's when Bobby showed up, and of course, Ross passed along that information as if he'd discovered it himself.

"Rodgers says the bruises showed up on Marjorie's arms," Ross stated. "It's a homicide."

I don't get why he feels the need to be so officious, but whatever. I was more worried about Bobby's visit with his mom, because he looks a little down.

"Does CSU have anything?" Bobby asked.

"That stairway smudge tested positive for her blood. No way it happened in the fall," I said as I handed Bobby the corresponding report.

I continued giving the rundown of the information I'd ascertained so far, and then I showed them the webpage I'd discovered for Diego. By this time, Bobby had wandered around behind me and he's so close I can smell him and it almost makes me lose my focus.

Almost.

But honestly, I've had a lot of practice at not letting myself be distracted by him, and then I just wanted to laugh after the captain read aloud from the screen in his self-important way, and Bobby called him out on it.

"We can all read, Captain," he stated, and I just know that Ross is going to fire back at him, so I quickly filled the silence.

"What would a preacher's wife want with a rent boy?" I posed unnecessarily.

"Find out," Ross barked, and then he headed for his office, and I turned around, expecting to find Bobby in a foul mood, but he wasn't.

He was smirking.

"You push his buttons," I commented.

"He pushes mine."

"Bobby," I chastised lightly as I got up and grabbed my coat.

"Alex," he quipped.

"Wait, so last night you were screaming out _Eames_, but in the office it's Alex?"

He smiled fully and gestured for me to lead the way onto the elevator.

"I thought I'd try it out and see if I can say it without wanting to throw you down on the nearest desk," he said under his breath.

"And?" I asked, and it's crazy, but I feel so hot just from his words. "How'd that work for you?"

"It didn't," he growled as his eyes walked over me in a very deliberate manner.

I have no idea how to respond to that.

There's no precedent in my life that has me desperate to ditch work in favor of being ravished by my partner.

Okay, let me rephrase that.

There's no _realistic _precedent. I would've chosen sex with Bobby over work any day in the past six years, but now…now, it's a viable option.

And I'm tempted.

But we didn't.

Instead, we picked up Diego and brought him in for a chat.

It was an entertaining interrogation, complete with all kinds of amusing and somewhat disturbing sexual references, and it also opened up a few more possibilities as to motive for Marjorie's death.

"It was whoever took the DVD," Bobby stated as we convened with Ross to discuss the result of the interview. "The killer wanted to make sure that she never had a chance to watch it.'

"Someone from the church," Ross deduced. "Maybe the reverend himself. Where is he?"

"Staying at their new multi-million dollar evangelical institute," I answered wryly.

"Pay him a condolence call."

So we hit the streets again, going to visit Reverend Riggins.

After tripping him up about his knowledge of Diego, we went with an unspoken divide and conquer technique, so I went to chat up the assistant while Bobby finished with the reverend.

We met up again in the lobby, ready to compare notes, but first I took a call from Ross. Apparently Diego's apartment was broken into, the laptop and webcams stolen.

"No DVD," I concluded.

"And the reverend swears that he knows nothing about a DVD. Which means we're looking for something that may not exist."

"There might be a paper trail linking him to Diego. Riggins gave his secretary some cover story about identity theft but someone in the church must be on to him," I said, and by this time we were at the SUV and I realized that I'd lost Bobby's attention.

I turned to see what had caught his eye, and it was man, standing in line at a soup kitchen.

"Hey, Bobby," the man said.

I have no idea who he is, but it's not surprising that someone on the streets might know him. He worked Narcotics for a while, and walked a beat before that, and he's a compassionate man, always wanting to help people.

But what _is _surprising is the expression on Bobby's face as he looks from the man to me and then back to the man again.

He looks…almost heart-broken.

"What are you doing here?" he said at last.

"Church people. They're good people, man."

"Yeah, I know."

"They got me clean. Feed me. I would've been dead a long time ago if it weren't for them. I mean it."

There's something about him that I can't put my finger on, and as I continued to stare at him, he looked at me appraisingly and then nodded and asked, "How're you doing?"

I can feel Bobby's discomfort rolling off of him in waves, and I don't know what to say, so I just nodded slightly, waiting for….something. Something to clue me in as to what this little meeting is all about.

And then I got it.

"So how's Mom?" he asked.

_He's Bobby's brother, Frank._

Of course, I knew of his existence, and I've heard stories about his drug problem, but still…I had no idea about_ this._

Bobby turned to look at me and I don't know if he's upset or embarrassed or…what, but I want so badly to make this as easy as possible for him, so I said, "I'll give you two a minute."

I held his gaze for another beat and then I went back to the car, where I just sat and watched the body language.

Bobby's stress is palpable, as is his concern.

After a brief conversation, Bobby pulled some cash from his pocket, handing it over to Frank, who offered only minimal token resistance, and then Bobby took it a step further, removing his coat and putting it over Frank's shoulders.

_He's so generous, _I thought with a pang of affection.

Although knowing Bobby, he probably feels guilt at the fact that Frank turned out like he did, even though he's not remotely responsible.

"I'm sorry about that," he mumbled as he climbed into the front seat. I stared at him while he buckled his seatbelt, but he wouldn't make eye contact.

"About taking a few minutes to talk to your brother? It's fine."

"I should've introduced you."

"He caught you by surprise. It's okay, really."

He finally brought his eyes to mine, and the pain in them…I haven't seen that much hurt since the Dockerty case.

_But this is different._

Because _he's_ different.

And as I had the thought, he proved my unspoken words to be true.

"I lost track of him. I didn't know he was clean, or even that he was in the city," he began, and then he proceeded to tell me the dynamic between him and his brother.

About halfway back to the precinct, I reached across the console and covered his hand with mine in what I hoped was a comforting gesture and then when we were a few blocks away, he quietly asked me to pull over.

"Thank you," he said once we were parked. "For listening, for not judging…it helps, having someone to talk to."

"I've been trying to tell you that for years," I replied, but I smiled as I said it, and I reached out to rest my palm against his cheek.

He held my gaze as he took a deep, stabilizing breath, and then he leaned over and kissed me, so lightly and sweetly that it nearly took my breath away and I don't think it's possible for me to love anyone more than I love him, right this moment.

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Bobby POV**

* * *

It was a conscious, deliberate decision to tell Eames about Frank.

I mean, obviously I had to say _something_ since she was right there, but the fact that I opened up and really shared…that took some effort.

And mostly only because I don't want her to have to deal with that part of my life. I don't want Frank's addiction and neediness and selfishness to touch her.

She doesn't need that.

I don't need it either, but I don't have a choice.

She does.

But as much as I don't want her exposed to him, I also can't disappoint her and shutting her out would disappoint her.

So I talked.

I gave her the fifteen minute version of a complete and ugly rundown of Frank Goren.

And then I asked her to pull over the car because I needed to look her in the eyes to…well, I just needed to.

I had to see if maybe she was going to look at me differently now that she knows I don't just come with the genes of a crazy mother and a philandering absentee father, but also a homeless addict brother.

So she stopped the car and turned to look at me, with her hand still covering mine as it's been for the past ten minutes.

And her expression makes my heart pound in my chest because there's no pity or condemnation or blame…there's just caring and understanding.

"Thank you," I said, talking around the lump in my throat. "For listening, for not judging…it helps, having someone to talk to."

"I've been trying to tell you that for years," she said with a smile, and I've known for a while now that I'm in love with her, but her gentle, teasing response makes me love her even more, and then she cupped my cheek with her hand, and the soft, comforting touch nearly brings tears to my eyes.

I'm _so_ in love with her.

So much more than I ever thought possible.

I took a deep breath, debating the merit of just telling her. Just putting the sentiment out there and seeing what happens, but I can't say it _now_ because I just opened up to her, and she knows I'm emotional, and if I say it now, she might not believe that it's the God's honest truth.

So instead of saying anything, I kissed her.

Probably not the wisest move, considering we're only a couple of blocks from 1PP, but I can't make myself care.

All I can think about is how her lips feel against mine and how I don't ever want to be without her.

We spent a few minutes in the parked car, long enough for me to get my feet back underneath me, but not long enough to fog up the windows – _much_ – and then we decided it was time to get back to work.

"Oh, and he asked if you're my wife," I said as we pulled into the parking garage.

"Frank?"

"Yeah, and I said you're my partner, and then he asked me what I'm waiting for."

I didn't have to tell her about his misconception, but I wanted to see her response.

_That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard._

Or…

_What __**are **__you waiting for?_

I like the latter.

And I also kind of like the idea of it, of a person thinking someone like Eames would marry a guy like me.

She chuckled, dropping her gaze as she turned off the engine, and then she said, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What'd you say?"

"Oh, I said that you're not that kind of partner," I answered, and I suddenly felt self-conscious.

Should I have told him about her? Is that insulting to her, the fact that I didn't come clean to my brother?

She nodded, but didn't say anything, and I quickly added, "I mean, you_ are_, but I didn't want him knowing about you. About how I feel about you. About…"

"Bobby, it's fine," she interrupted, and I can't be sure but I think it really_ is_ fine.

But still, I hate that I have to walk through this minefield. I hate that my family is so messed up.

"If he knew the truth, then you'd be one more person he'd try to manipulate," I explained sadly. "Maybe not right away, but eventually…"

"It's okay," she assured me again, this time glancing around the garage before reaching out to touch my hand. "Are _you_ okay?"

I looked at her, taking in the turtleneck she's wearing to hide the marks_ I _left on her neck, and the black coat that_ I _buttoned up for her this morning just before we left my apartment, and the way her hair frames her face and how her eyes really see _me _and how she's patiently waiting for my response because she truly wants to know the answer…

I can't imagine ever _not_ being okay as long as I have her in my life.

"Yeah, I think I am."

We spent the rest of the day working on the case, and that night, we went to my place.

I love how quickly we found a routine, going to either her place or mine but always going somewhere together.

I never thought it would be so easy to be with someone. I like my privacy too much.

But with Eames, it's just exactly right.

I guess I should've suspected it might be like this, considering how well we've assimilated to each other's rhythms at work, but still…this added facet to our relationship is just unbelievable.

"I'm supposed to pick him up on Sunday. At noon," I told her as we lay in the darkness.

We came to bed an hour ago, but of course, now that Eames is with me, sleep isn't my first priority, so we spent that hour in the most pleasurable of ways.

And I'd planned to call her Alex while we were making love. I did at first, when I was placing kisses all over her body and telling her how beautiful she is and basically paying homage to every inch of her.

But once I was inside of her, my conscious thought process was lost, and even though I've never been a vocal lover, I found myself once again calling out her name as I reached that wonderful release.

_Eames._

But I don't think she minds.

She might not have even heard me, considering she was offering a steady stream of _oh my God oh my God of my God._

I might be wrong but I think she enjoys our love-making as much as I do.

Anyway, we finished a few minutes ago, and then she snuggled up against me and sighed heavily. I love that Eames is a cuddler. I've never been much of one myself, but it must be because typically, for me, once the sex is over, my interest wanes.

But that's definitely not the case with Eames.

"Frank?" she said in response to my statement. "To see your mom?"

"Uh huh."

I don't have to tell Eames that Sunday is my mom's birthday.

She knows that.

She knows everything about me.

And she's still _here_.

It blows my mind.

"He won't show," I continued as I stroked my fingers over her hair.

"Predictably unpredictable," she remarked with understanding, and I hummed my agreement.

I can't bring myself to care too much about him when I'm this happy.

I feel a little guilty about that, though.

"Well, if he doesn't, and you want some company, I'll go," she offered.

"Oh, you don't have…"

"I know," she interrupted quietly. "And I don't mean I expect an introduction. I'm just saying I'll go along for the ride. No pressure or anything, just let me know."

Over the next few days, our case started heating up.

We couldn't get a warrant to look through the reverend's home or office, in search of that DVD, but we went to talk to the other person who saw Marjorie just after she died.

Dr. Corliss.

He remembered seeing the reverend clutching an envelope and _that_ was enough to get us our warrant.

It was Friday when we went to conduct the search, and the reverend was there, admitting to his transgressions with Diego, but he was in the dark about the DVD, and I believe him. One look at Eames said she and I were on the same page, so we gently tag-teamed him about what he knew, and that's when Elder Roberts arrived.

He essentially confessed to taking the DVD, so we took him back to the squad room for an official sit-down.

But even though we initially suspected that our killer was whoever stole the damning video, we were wrong. Roberts wouldn't have the strength to kill Marjorie in the manner she was murdered, so it wasn't him.

Instead, he tossed suspicion back onto Diego.

"And here we go, round and round," Eames remarked as we left the interrogation room.

"Are you sure you're up for taking another go at Diego?"

"Sure, I might learn something," she joked, and her comment sparked off a whole round of memories from last night that had me smiling broadly.

"I'm not sure my heart can take you adding anything to your arsenal," I said under my breath.

"Really? Because I'm just getting started," she fired back suggestively, and I leaned closer to her than I probably should when we're at work, but I suddenly desperately needed that proximity, to maybe catch a whiff of her scent, and then I heard Ross call out from across the room, causing me to quickly sidestep away from her.

"Diego's lawyer says Monday," he told us. "I guess that means you get a weekend."

I wasn't about to argue.

I mean, I want to wrap up this case but I have a life, too, and if our latest lead takes us to a suspect who can't talk until Monday, well…then I guess we get a break.

So Friday night, we went out.

Dinner, dancing…it was like something out of those movies Eames likes so much, only without the angst.

On Saturday, we did laundry. And grocery shopping. For my place, not hers.

We've decided that my apartment is a little more conveniently located, so she picked up a few days' worth of clothes from her place, and we stashed them at mine.

We didn't actually talk about how much time we're spending together, or what it all means in the grand scheme of things, but it's working.

Really, really working.

And Saturday night, I _almost _told her that I love her.

We were sitting on the couch, watching and mocking FBI Files on the Discovery Channel, and her feet were in my lap so I was rubbing them, and I guess I hit a ticklish spot.

That's one of those fascinating new facts I've learned about Eames.

She's ticklish.

Anyway, I hit the spot by accident, but after she reacted, wiggling slightly to move her foot, I exploited the knowledge mercilessly, holding her foot firmly in one hand while tickling with the other, and the more she laughed, the more I did it, and then that turned into an all-out wrestling match as she squirmed to get away. I covered her body with mine, pinning her down while moving my point of attack to her waist, which only increased both her laughter and her threats of retribution, and when I finally let up, deciding that she probably needed to breathe, I looked down at her and her face was flushed and she was smiling beatifically and it hit me that I'm just so happy that I'm suddenly scared to death that at any second I might wake up.

_But this is real_, I reminded myself.

And I don't ever want to be without her.

So I almost told her the truth.

_I love you._

But then the doorbell and her cell phone both rang at the same time, and she smirked at me as I let go of her so that she could wriggle out from underneath me.

"Saved by the bell," she said.

"Yeah, you got lucky," I replied, and maybe she _did_ get lucky.

Maybe I don't have any business sucking her into a life like mine. Telling her I love her. Because won't that make her feel like she has to say it back? Or what if I tell her, and that pushes her away because she's not _there_, and not interested in being there?

It's too much.

"_You_ got lucky," she corrected as she gave me a little shove, serving to push me towards the door and partially bring me out of my unexpected funk. "I was about to kick your ass."

"Ha," I retorted, walking along beside her as I went for the door and she was after her still-ringing phone, which was on the table next to the door. "Keep dreaming."

She paused, putting a hand on my arm as she looked up at me with a soft expression.

"I kind of feel like I am. Don't you?"

The person at the door was my elderly neighbor, who wanted my assistance resetting the clock on her VCR, so I slipped next door to help her out while Eames took a call from her mother.

"She wants to have lunch tomorrow," she told me once we were in bed.

"That sounds nice."

"I know, but if Frank doesn't show…"

"I don't mind going by myself," I promised. "Really. Go have lunch with your mom."

She nodded and then rested her cheek against my chest.

"I didn't tell her about us," she said.

"Okay," I answered cautiously, although I'm not sure how I feel about it. I mean, I didn't tell Frank, but that's because he's a life-sucking parasite.

Although I haven't told my mom, either, but would she even understand?

I don't know.

And if I tell her, then she'll insist on meeting Eames, and I don't know if I can handle that.

But _her_ mom isn't crazy or a drug addict.

"You're quiet," she stated. "So does that mean you've decided that since I didn't tell my mother, then I'm embarrassed of you or about to break up with you or some other equally ridiculous conclusion?"

I love how well she knows me, even in a situation like this.

It makes my apprehension almost disappear.

"Ridiculous?" I questioned.

"If you're thinking along those lines, then yes," she said firmly. "I didn't tell her because as soon as I do, she'll tell the rest of the family and there'll be dinner invitations and more phone calls and…it'll just turn into a circus."

I hummed my understanding, and then she shifted so that she could look me in the eyes, and she added, "And I'm not ready to share you yet. I like having you all to myself."

The next day, she ended up canceling on her mother because Ross called to say that Diego's lawyer bumped up the meeting to this afternoon.

"I can postpone the visit to my mom," I offered.

"Don't be silly," she said. "I can handle him. And since we're getting close to solving this thing, I'm sure Ross will want to jump in on it, too."

So we parted ways, with her going to work and me waiting for Frank for half an hour before giving up on him and going to see my mom for her birthday.

Of course, she only wanted to talk about Frank, where he is and what he's doing, and how hard his life has been. How I'm the one who caught all the breaks.

I hate when she gets like that, but I guess she's right in one sense. I caught a hell of a break when I got partnered with Eames.

Where would I be if I'd never met her?

I can't even think about it.

I met up with Eames at 1PP later in the evening, and my mood was deteriorating.

My mother had been especially difficult, and after discussing treatment options with her doctor, I realized that I have no idea how to go forward. I can't afford experimental treatments, and what she's getting isn't helping. She's not getting better.

And of course, I don't know what's going on with Frank, either. He was supposedly clean five days ago, so why didn't he show up today?

As I sat in the AV room with Eames and Ross, watching the clip from the last debate between Corliss and Riggins, I found it hard to concentrate. I could feel Eames looking at me, probably seeking out that connection between us, but I couldn't give it to her.

_This_ is my life.

Schizophrenia and hospital bills and drug addiction…

It's not fair for me to drag her into it.

_But I love her._

That night, we went home together, and I know she knows I'm off, but she didn't make me talk.

And we didn't make love.

Instead, she got into bed and held open her arms to me, and I laid down next to her, putting my cheek against her chest while she ran her fingers through my hair.

It's hard not to feel like I take more than I give, and I almost felt guilty for accepting comfort from her.

What do I offer her in return?

The next day, Monday, we were back on the case.

Eames found payments Corliss has been making to a woman named Alminia Perez, in the amount of six thousand a month, which was worth checking out, but as we left the building, I got a call from my mom's doctor.

"Go. You can get up and back while I talk to the Perez woman, and we'll meet back here," she encouraged.

"Are you sure?"

"Bobby. Go," she insisted with understanding.

So I went.

The doctor had researched more treatment options that he wanted to discuss with me, but nothing that's covered by insurance, and I'm practically bankrupt as it is, so I'm still no closer to having a solution, although I appreciate his effort.

I met Eames back at 1PP.

"How is she?" she asked me as we walked in.

"Same," I said vaguely, and then I made a point to add, "I'm not sure what I'm going to do. There aren't any feasible options that offer a positive outcome."

She nodded, looking grateful at my attempt to share.

"We can look at it together, if you want. Tonight, I mean."

"Okay," I agreed. "Tell me what you found out."

She brought me up to speed on her interview, and then we went inside to go over it again with Ross.

"Interesting theory. No proof, no witnesses. Corliss finds out you met his son, tough getting him to talk."

"Not if he thinks we're going after his arch enemy, the reverend," I offered.

"Don't bring him in. Visit his lab, tell him we need him to testify against Riggins," Ross stated, and then he looked at the clock and said, "Tomorrow. You show up after five o'clock and he's going to take it more seriously."

Eames and I spent another evening _not_ talking.

About anything of any importance, I mean, but I guess the progress is that we talked about the fact that I'm not talking.

"I'm trying to sort it out in my head," I reasoned. "I don't mean to shut you out, I promise, it's just that I don't know yet what I want to do."

"Maybe talking it through with me will help you make that decision."

"Maybe," I agreed. "But…I'm just so tired of thinking about it. I just want to _not_ think for a while."

So she helped me forget about everything but her.

And it hit me that our relationship is always going to be unbalanced like this.

I need her more than she needs me.

She'll never admit it, I know, but it's true.

I laid awake thinking about that, as she slept snuggled up against my side.

The next day, we went to see Corliss, and after a lengthy discussion, we finally got him to break.

He confessed to killing Marjorie.

We arrested him and took him in for processing, and an hour later, we watched the media coverage, not of the arrest but of Reverend Riggins' sexual exploits. It never ceases to amaze me, the things the press deem newsworthy.

I was about to ask Eames what she wanted for dinner when Ross popped his head in the room.

"Detective, the ME just called. You should get down there."

"Why?"

"Just…"

He trailed off, not saying anything more and I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Without a word, Eames snagged her jacket and together we went to the morgue, and the entire time, I kept thinking_ this is it. It's going to be Frank._

And I felt bad that I didn't feel worse.

"Detective," Rodgers said sadly. "He had your card in his coat."

She handed me the coat that I'd put on Frank's shoulders last week, and I took a deep breath before walking to the head of the table and pulling back the sheet.

It wasn't him.

And I can't describe how I feel.

Relief, of course, but also something else, like a nagging sense of clairvoyance because just because it isn't him _this_ time, doesn't mean I won't be right back here doing this same thing next week or next month or next year and then it _will_ be him and I'll be going through this whole thing all over again.

"Well, it's not my brother. I mean, it's my coat, but it's not my…my brother," I said, and then I couldn't stop myself from rambling. "I guess he sold it to somebody. That's okay, I gave it to him so he can sell it if he wants, it's just…uh…everybody needs money, right?"

I finally chanced a look at Eames, and she nodded at me encouragingly, and her expression is one of such sympathy that I can't keep looking at her, and my emotions keep changing, running the whole gamut of grief and regret and anger and sadness and reprieve, and I feel like if I don't get out of this room in the next five seconds, I'm going to have a complete breakdown.

I can't be sure, but I think I thanked Rodgers on my way out and then I pushed through the doors, hoping that Eames was behind me because I don't want to be alone right now.

"Bobby," she began as she caught up to me.

"Don't say anything," I begged. "Just…can we just go home?"

So she drove us back to my place, and the whole time, I just sat there like a stone with that damn coat in my lap, wondering what the hell is wrong with Frank and then hating myself for being mad at him when it really could be him in the morgue right now.

"You want something to drink?" she asked once we were inside my still-dark apartment.

"Maybe," I answered as I followed her into the kitchen.

And I'm so out of sorts. This is completely new territory for me, feeling moody and dangerous and yet not being alone.

I watched as she pulled out two glasses and then filled each of them to the brim with Scotch. She put the cap back on the bottle, and then picked up the glasses, turning around and offering one to me.

I glanced at it, and then looked at her again, and I don't know why, but something in me just snapped.

My desperation to escape _my_ life and be a part of hers instead.

I took both glasses from her hand and set them down on the counter, roughly so that liquid sloshed from them, but I barely took notice as instead I grabbed onto her and kissed her aggressively.

My desire went from raging to off the charts in a matter of seconds, and I started tugging urgently at her clothes, unable to think about anything but having her, right here, right now, as hard and fast as possible.

I had the brief flash that I was overwhelming her, not giving her the chance to say no, but then she deftly and swiftly undid my belt buckle and shoved both my pants and my boxers to the floor, so then I picked her up and spun us around so that her back was against the refrigerator and without hesitation, I drove into her forcefully, and then I did it again and again and again because I can't get enough of her and I can't get away from _me_ fast enough.

Afterwards, I couldn't let her go.

I just held her tightly in my arms, with her back still pressed against the fridge.

"I'm sorry," I managed to say.

"For what?"

"This. I…I was out of control."

"I know," she said with a smile. "I loved it."

"But..."

"You used to push me away, remember? Now I'm part of your life. Of everything you're feeling. And if it's frustration or passion or anger or a combination of all kinds of emotions, then that's fine because it's _you,_ allowing yourself to feel and to share those feelings with me."

I took a moment to let her words sink in and then I carefully put her back on her feet and I took a step back from her.

"Are you hearing me?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said with a nod, but then I looked at her as she reached for my shirt, and her skin is red, on her hip bones and on her wrists, and I'm scared to even look at her back because I was pounding into her so hard, just trying to get lost inside of her, and I hate thinking that I may have actually _hurt_ her…

She stood up and pulled the t-shirt over her head and then reached for the glasses of Scotch again, and as she turned back, she must have read the expression on my face.

"You didn't hurt me."

"But I could have."

"Yeah, well, I could've hurt you, too, but I didn't."

"Eames," I said on a sigh. "You know what I'm saying. And I promised myself I'd never hurt you again."

I took a glass from her hand and killed it in one gulp, letting the burn of the amber liquid ease the way for what I was about to say.

"You deserve to be happy, Alex. And as much as I want to, I'm not so sure it's going to be me who can do that."

"So…what?" she asked sharply. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…maybe you should take a step back from me. We got caught up in this pretty quickly, and I don't want you to feel obligated or beholden or…"

"Obligated?" she repeated, and now she's mad.

But maybe that's for the best.

"You think I feel _obligated_ to sleep with you?" she continued. "To spend all of my free time with you? Are you kidding me, Bobby?"

"I'm just saying that I've got a lot of baggage, and it seems that every time something goes wrong in my life, it causes _you_ hurt, too, and I don't want to do that. That's not fair to you."

"Not fair? It's called love, Bobby," she snapped. "We're here for each other. Or at least, I thought we were."

Her love comment was unexpected, and it occurred to me that maybe I'm being a colossal idiot. A martyr again. Refusing to allow myself the happiness I get from being with Eames.

"We _are,_" I said quietly as I took a step towards her. "I just…you've gotten a better glimpse of my life this past week, and then tonight I practically attacked you, and I…I want to give you an out."

"What if I don't want an out?"

She stood there staring at me indignantly, her eyes sparked with anger, and I felt like caving, like pulling her into my arms and letting her make the mistake of loving me, but I can't do it because I love her too much.

I'm a tragedy waiting to happen.

So instead, I said, "Then maybe I need to do the right thing and give you one anyway."

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

**Alex POV**

* * *

It took me at least ten seconds to stop being mad.

He wants me to take a step back?

Because he's trying to protect me?

From_ him_?

God, for a genius, sometimes he's a freaking moron.

"Are you asking me to leave?" I challenged after he made that ridiculous _giving me an out_ remark.

Because now that those ten seconds have passed, I'm in better control of my emotions, and if I need to walk him through this scenario, step by step, then that's what I'll do.

And yeah, it stung a little that my statement of love got swept under the rug. He neither acknowledged it nor refuted it.

But I'll admit that I didn't really time it all that well. Yelling it at him, ambiguously, during an argument isn't necessarily prime conditions to say it for the first time, so I don't really blame him.

And I know he's emotional tonight. Thinking that his brother was dead, going to ID the body only to find out that it wasn't him, but still not having clue as to where he might be or what condition he's in…it _has_ to be stressful.

I get that, I really do.

And in a backwards way, I even understand what he's trying to do. He's so used to being alone that he thinks of it as burdening me when he's having problems rather than seeing it as being part of a real life loving relationship.

But if he thinks I'm just going to walk away from him, he's got another thing coming.

What I need to do is make him see that he_ is _the one for me.

"I just think you need some space," he answered, sounding tired and sad.

"I need space. And I need you to tell me that. Because what I think I want doesn't make any difference, right?" I said calmly.

"Eames," he said on a sigh, and damn if the sound doesn't break my heart a little.

I'm not trying to make his life more difficult. I'm trying to make it better. I _do _make it better, just like he makes mine better.

Why is it so hard for him to understand that?

"It's fine," I conceded as I scooped up my clothes and began hastily getting dressed. "I'll go."

"This isn't a break-up."

_Good, because then I'd have to shoot him._

"Just give it some time," he continued. "Maybe even…I don't know. Go on a date."

And I know I said I'm not mad anymore, but maybe I lied.

"A date?" I shouted as I zipped up my jeans. "But we're not breaking up? How does that work, Bobby? You're asking me to cheat on you?"

"No, I'm just…I don't know! I didn't think it would be this hard," he said in frustration.

"Being with me is hard," I repeated. "Thank you."

Oh yeah, I'm mad. I'm mad as hell. Because understanding him doesn't make me immune to being completely and utterly frustrated with his self-destructive and underinflated sense of self-worth.

He took one step towards me and reached out hesitantly and then dropped his hand in defeat.

"It's _not_ being with you…that's what's hard," he corrected. "And you haven't even left yet."

And now I'm back to being completely baffled.

"If you don't want me to go, why am I leaving? Because it sure as hell wasn't my idea."

I stared at him, as he stood in the center of his kitchen wearing only his boxers, and he looks so lost and distraught, and all I want to do is hug him.

So I did.

I moved in front of him and put my arms around him, and in a split second, he was hugging me back, holding me tightly against him.

"I need you too much," he whispered. "Sooner or later, it'll overwhelm you, and you'll end up resenting me, and I can't risk losing you as…as…everything else you are to me."

"You're not going to lose me," I promised.

"You can't know that."

And like I said, I get it. Because I get _him_. He's fatalistic and pessimistic and he's surely having a really hard time swallowing how happy we are. He's likely convinced himself that I'm making some huge sacrifice by being with him.

Stupid, stupid man.

But I can do this. I just need to give him time to grasp the concept that it's _him_ who makes me happy.

And I need to show him that even when we aren't an _us,_ we're still going to be just fine at work because I think that'll take some of the pressure off, to know that one aspect doesn't hinge on the other.

So I squeezed him once more and then went up on my toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm going, but only because you asked," I said quietly. "Keep that in mind when you're replaying this conversation in your head."

And then I stepped back from him and without another word, I finished getting dressed and then I walked out the door.

And it was hard.

Really, _really_ hard.

Because God I love him.

But I knew it wouldn't be easy with him. As effortless as the past few weeks have been, the stumbling block was an indisputable fixture in our future.

So now we just have to maneuver past this and get back to the way it's _supposed_ to be.

Which is us, spending every spare moment together.

Cooking dinner in tandem.

Or cleaning the apartment.

Or running mindless errands.

Or having hot and vigorous sex up against his refrigerator.

It was late when I got back to my apartment, and it felt so empty that I allowed myself a little bit of time to wallow in self-pity.

Why did I have to fall in love with such a difficult and complex man?

Why can't he just accept the fact that I love him instead of being in denial?

He called me while I was in the middle of my pity party, but I let it go to voice mail. I don't want him to offer me explanations or excuses. I want him to get his head out of his ass and realize that no matter how fucked up he thinks he is, I love him and he makes me happy.

And his message?

He said, "_Please don't be mad at me. I'm trying to do what's right for you. I'm trying to put your happiness ahead of my own."_

Because yeah, I'm _so_ much happier without the man I love.

Dumb ass.

I spent a restless night alone in my bed, but the next morning, I plastered a fake smile on my face and I went to work.

"Hi," he said cautiously when I got to my desk.

"So what do we have today?" I asked brightly. "Anything?"

"Um…not yet, no," he answered, and then he regarded me carefully and said, "So…um…we're…okay?"

_You mean in spite of the fact that you're acting like a complete moron, _I wanted to ask. But instead, I said, _"_Yeah, sure, why wouldn't we be?"

The next several minutes were a little awkward, but then Ross dropped a file on my desk and asked for us to look over it, searching for something one of our colleagues might have missed, and then we were business as usual.

And I'm glad for it, I really am. It shows us both that we can put aside our personal feelings and get the job done. Of course, I knew that anyway. I've been putting aside my personal feelings for years.

But still…it was like a small, moral victory. An unnecessary one, considering we shouldn't haven't broke up in the first place, but whatever. Maybe now he'll see that we're not risking _this _by moving forward with _that_.

Although that's only part of it, I know.

The other part is that he thinks I can do better than him.

Have I mentioned how_ not_ smart he can be sometimes?

Anyway, for more than a week, we worked flawlessly together while staying apart when off the clock.

It's killing me.

It was hard enough before, when I thought he didn't want me. When I didn't know what it was like to be with him.

But now that I know, and that I'm sure he _does_ want me, it's torture not being with him. And pretending like it doesn't bother me.

I've never had so much solo sex in my life.

Not that it helps me much because it's not anywhere close to the same as being with him, but it's something. And at least my imagination is now based on fact.

It was early on Saturday morning when I got the call that we'd finally picked up a case.

The phone pulled me from an especially erotic dream and it took me several seconds to realize that I was actually alone in my bed.

Damn Bobby and his misplaced altruistic ideals. He's supposed to be letting me go so that I can be happy?

Yeah, well, I guess I should thank him because I'm freaking delirious.

I hung up with the captain and then angrily stabbed the fast dial icon, the picture of Bobby that mocks me from the home screen of my cell phone.

"Alex," he answered, his voice thick with sleep, and God, just his tone and the way he said my name, my actual name, sent a rush of arousal through me.

"It's Eames," I corrected as I shoved aside my lust. "And we picked up a case."

I rattled off the details that Ross had given me, and then suggested that we call for an interpreter to meet us at the scene.

"Good idea," he agreed humbly. "So…um…I'll see you there?"

"Well, yeah," I retorted. "It'll be tough for me to work the scene from somewhere else, don't you think?"

I hung up and then got dressed quickly while I chastised myself for letting my frustration get the better of me.

_But how long is this going to go on,_ I argued with myself. _And how long should I pretend that his way is the right way?_

I forced the thoughts from my mind as I clipped on my badge and gun and left my apartment, heading for the scene. I had no doubt that Bobby would beat me there, and I wasn't wrong.

"Hey," I said with forced casualness as I approached where he was bent over the body.

He stopped what he was doing to look back at me, and in spite of our location, a tingling feeling rolled through me just from his soft expression.

This is ridiculous.

_We're going to have to talk about this,_ I decided.

Soon.

With my mind made up about that, I shifted gears and we got to work.

"Detective Eames?" a voice asked after Bobby and I spent some time piecing together possible scenarios. I turned to see a detective joining us in the room.

"Yeah," I said as I got to my feet.

"Detective Peter Lyons. Community Affairs," he introduced as he held out his hand, so I pulled off my glove and shook it. It didn't escape my attention that he had a smile on his face as he clasped onto my hand warmly, nor did it go unnoticed that Bobby watched the exchange.

And see, he never does that.

I handle outsiders during an investigation while he stays focused on the case itself. But after Detective Lyons held onto my hand for a beat longer than was necessary, I turned back towards Bobby and found him regarding me carefully.

I sure would love to know what's going on in that head of his.

But there was no time for asking, at least not now.

We spent the rest of the day organizing our theories and talking to people who knew the deceased, and then we decided to call it quits.

"So, um…how are you?" Bobby asked me quietly as we got on the elevator.

"How am I?" I repeated. "I'm fine."

"I mean, really," he urged. "It feels like we don't talk anymore. Or at least not about anything but work."

"That's because you broke up with me," I reminded him obstinately.

"We're not…I didn't…" he began, and then he trailed off and sighed heavily before saying, "I miss you."

And damn if his words didn't make my heart start pounding in my chest.

"Then do something about it," I responded.

He stared at me for several seconds, and I honestly thought that he was going to kiss me, in spite of the venue, but then the elevator stopped on the third floor, and we both took a step back from each other, and when the doors opened, it was Detective Lyons.

"Alexandra," he said in surprise as a smile spread across his face. His gaze darted to Bobby as he nodded and added, "Detective Goren."

Then he turned back to me, angling his body so that it was like a one-on-one conversation and he said, "I was on my way up to see you. I got the information you wanted about cochlear implants."

"We're going down," Bobby stated blandly, letting the insinuation hang that Lyons had stepped onto the wrong elevator, and I had to bite back a smirk.

"Oh, well, I can walk out with you," he offered immediately. "And I can tell you everything you need to know. Maybe it'll give you some insight into possible motive."

I nodded my agreement because we were already traveling downward so it's not like I could tell him to get the hell off the elevator.

But that's what I _wanted_ to say.

Because what had Bobby been about to say?

Or do?

Does he finally realize how idiotic it is for us to be apart?

I mean, I made up my mind that I'm not about to beg him to open his damn eyes, but once he _does, _I'm on board with us getting back to where we were before his self-sacrificing revelation.

"You have some literature?" I asked with forced interest as the doors opened in the parking garage.

"I do, but it's not fully comprehensive, so you know, maybe we can get something to eat and I can fill in the blanks, and…"

"See you tomorrow, Eames," Bobby interrupted, holding my gaze for a moment before turning to walk away.

"Hang on, Bobby!" I called out, but Lyons was still talking and Bobby was still walking, so I turned to the over-eager interpreter and said, "Just a minute."

And then I hustled after Bobby.

"Wait," I said again as I approached him. He stopped but didn't turn around, so I walked around in front of him and said, "We were in the middle of a conversation."

"And now it looks like I'm holding up a date, so…"

"A date?" I whispered harshly. "Are you kidding me?"

"I'm not mad. Maybe this is a good thing."

"You're not mad? Well maybe I'm mad! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me. I just want you to be happy."

I rolled my eyes and then stabbed at his chest with my finger as I said as viciously as I could while still being quiet so as not to be overheard, "I _was_ happy. Ten days ago, I was so damn happy I didn't know what to do with myself. And then you had to go and fuck everything up by deciding for me that you're _not_ who I want, so guess what? Now I'm not happy at all."

"Alexandra!" Lyons called out to me. "If this isn't a good time…"

I ignored him while I glared at Bobby, but he just dropped his eyes to the ground and his unwillingness to see what's right in front of him had me _so_ mad.

So I took a step back from him.

And when he still didn't say a word, I shook my head and walked away.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

**Bobby POV**

I think maybe I screwed up.

And even though I anticipated that I'd be the one to make a mess of things, I didn't expect it to be like _this_.

Why in the world did I tell her she needed to step back from me?

And why haven't I spoken up on any of the eighteen dozen occasions since to tell her that I was wrong?

_Because I needed to be sure that I'm who she wants_, I reminded myself.

At the time, I really thought it was the right thing to do.

But she got so mad…calculated and frustrated kind of mad, like she often gets with me.

Which tells me that maybe she _is_ sure.

But my rampant insecurities are killing me. Killing _us_. Because I can't help but wonder how could she possibly love someone like me. I'll end up hurting her, I know I will.

_Like I'm doing now by forcing us to take a break_, my mind pointed out with heavy sarcasm.

In the elevator this afternoon, she gave me the perfect opportunity to tell her how I feel.

And what did I say?

Absolutely nothing.

What is wrong with me?

I don't deserve her.

I'm a complete idiot.

And now she's probably off having dinner with Peter.

I can't even say the name in my head without grounding it out and adding a descriptive.

_Fucking_ Peter.

Fucking Peter who smiles all the damn time and probably has happy childhood stories to share.

Fucking Peter who calls Eames _Alexandra_.

I really, really don't like Fucking Peter.

Not only should I have confessed my love for her in the elevator, but I should've kissed her, too.

Right there in front of Fucking Peter.

Instead, I didn't do anything – then or in the garage - and my lack of response sent her running straight into the arms of another suitor.

I thought about her all night. Is she home? Is she with him? Or worse yet, is she home with him? I wanted to call her but I was afraid to find out which statement was true.

And I know.

I have no one to blame but myself.

This break-up thing was my idea.

_To protect her. _

God, I'm so stupid.

She might have to put up with my guilt and my crazy family, but there's no one in this world who will ever love her more than I do.

So why the hell did I push her away?

I don't know, but I did, and now I have to deal with the very real possibility that it's too late.

Because the way she looked at me this evening…she was practically begging me to say something and yet I said nothing.

I spent a sleepless night alone – the eleventh one in a row, if anyone's counting – and then the next morning, I went into work.

Eames was wearing blue.

I love her in blue.

"Hey," I said as I watched her carefully for signs of…what? To see if I can tell what she did last night just by looking at her?

It's none of my business what she did last night.

Or any night.

I made sure of that when I ran her off that night in my apartment.

She looked at me, her expression blank, and I felt a sense of panic over what she might be about to say, but then Ross came into the squad room. He was talking on the phone, but he headed straight for us, and I know he wants an update on our case.

I guess whatever she was about to say will have to wait.

We followed our boss into his office and began the briefing.

"This uh, Dr Mallory. What did he do?" Ross asked.

"Cochlear implants," Eames answered.

Which is what Fucking Peter wanted to discuss with Eames last night. Or rather, he wanted to fill in the blanks for her over dinner.

Asshole.

"Bionic ear," Ross remarked while I lingered behind Eames.

She nodded and said, "According to Peter…"

And I have no idea what she said after that because she's calling him _Peter_ now?

Seriously?

I felt like punching something.

Better yet, some_one_.

Someone like Fucking Peter.

"…then intensive therapy," she was saying, and I forced myself into the conversation by commenting, "It's no magic bullet."

I stared at her as I said the words, hoping to make a connection with her, but she stayed focused on Ross.

_Because we're in here working_, I pointed out to myself.

Other than her slip by calling him Peter, she's trying to be professional, so I need to do the same. I found my rhythm and finished bringing Ross up to speed, and then after Eames got a text with a lead, we left the squad room and went to pick up a guy who stole one of our victim's prescription pads.

"We need to talk," I said once we were in the car.

"Oh, now you want to talk? Last night, you couldn't think of a single word to say to me."

"Are you…mad?" I asked, and as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how stupid the question was. Of _course_ she's mad. I've made a disaster of our relationship.

"Am I mad?" she repeated, and then she laughed incredulously as she shook her head, and then she said "No, I'm not mad. I'm just…done."

"Wait, done?" I asked, my voice unnaturally high as nausea and fear rolled through me. "You mean with us?"

"Yeah, I mean, that's what you wanted, right?"

"No! That's not what I want at all!"

"You could've fooled me."

"Look, Eames…_Alex_," I corrected as I reached over and put my hand on her thigh. She glanced down at it, and I had the brief thought that maybe I should move it before she cuts it off, but I didn't. And she didn't. So I continued.

"I was just trying to…"

"Protect me," she interrupted. "I know. You keep saying that, but what that really means is that you don't trust me to make up my own mind about things."

"I never said that," I argued.

"Yes, you did. You offered me an out, and I said no, and you had the brilliant idea to give it to me anyway."

"It's not the same thing," I said, but I was starting to see her point.

She pulled the car into a parking space near our destination and then she shut it off but made no move to get out. Instead, she shifted towards me and put her hand over top of mine.

"Maybe I wasn't clear when I said it the other night, but I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone," she said quietly. "And I want for us to be together. But what I'm not going to do is try to talk you into feeling the same way about me."

"Eames…"

"No, let me finish. This whole business of you trying to save me from _you_ is crazy. And pointless because you can't change how I feel. So the way I see it, you have some thinking to do. We can be partners in everything, or just partners at work. And you have until we solve this case to figure it out."

She stared into my eyes as she said the words, and all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and tell her that I'm sorry for putting her through these past almost two weeks, and that I _do_ love her, and I _do _want to be with her…that I want to be partners in absolutely everything for the rest of our lives.

But when I opened my mouth to speak, she stopped me.

"Don't say anything right now. I really want you to think about it. Because I can't play this game of going back and forth, being with you and then not. It's too hard."

And then she squeezed my hand before letting it go and getting out of the car.

I sat for another moment, trying to get my head together, and then I got out onto the sidewalk.

"Eames," I began.

"Case only," she instructed. "Afterwards, we'll talk."

So I nodded, because I have to respect her wishes.

And then we made our way through the crowd of demonstrators out in front of the doctor's office, and there he was. Fucking Peter.

And he's got this huge smile on his face while he's staring at _my _Eames, only she doesn't know she's mine because she wouldn't let me talk about it right now…

We can't finish this case fast enough.

I did my best to ignore him while we investigated. I kept my focus on Eames when I talked, trying to pretend like he wasn't even there.

But Eames was nice to him.

And I know, she's a nice person, but still…

I wish she would've just come out and said _I'm not interested _so that he'd quit acting like a dog in heat. And then I could quit glaring at him and disputing his theories.

We managed to ditch him for the afternoon, and it was a productive day, both case-wise and personal. Not because we had any kind of discussion about our relationship, but because it seemed we were both making an effort to keep the work flowing effortlessly.

She wanted to show me that we could still be great partners, even if we weren't anything else.

That's all good and well, but we _are _going to be something else.

At least, as long as she hasn't changed her mind by the time we finish this case.

I spent another restless night alone in the bed where Eames belongs, and then the next day we had another victim. Fortunately the dean survived the shooting, but still…it meant another round of interviews, which also meant more time with Peter.

I'm trying to ease up on that descriptive.

_Although the way he keeps standing closer and closer to Eames…_

What does he think, that he can flash her his pretty-boy smile and spout off a little information about his area of expertise and she'll swoon at his feet?

Yeah, I'm going to keep the adjective.

Fucking Peter.

It was harder to get rid of him today, and as we looked more into Malia as a possible suspect, we found ourselves at an ice skating rink. She and her boyfriend were arguing, and my curiosity was up.

"They're fighting. You gotta help me out. I can't make out what they're saying," I said to him. I wasn't asking nicely, but come on – this is a murder investigation, and our suspect was having a fight in public.

"I'm not comfortable eavesdropping," he answered.

"They know that we're here. They have no reasonable expectation of privacy. Please."

"It's a private event."

"In a public place. Please, Eames," I said, turning to my partner, but she shook her head as her cell phone rang.

"Don't put me in the middle," she stated before stepping away to take the call, but I just stared after her for a moment.

In the _middle_?

_Is _there a middle between me and Fucking Peter?

I feel like I should take offense at that. Eames should be on _my_ side when it comes to us against an outsider.

Once Eames was gone, Peter caved and told me what they were saying. Was he only trying to be self-righteous in front of Eames?

I don't know, but I can't help but be a little miffed about her unwillingness to back me up.

Or is this her way of telling me that maybe I no longer need to make a choice? Because she's already made it for me?

I felt sick at that prospect, but since I can't do anything about it right now, the best I can do is solve this case as fast as possible. So when Eames came back with information about the ballistics report and the cigarette DNA, I quickly offered to call the DA for a warrant.

And then I left her with Fucking Peter.

Maybe she has some thinking to do, too, and since the whole point of this exercise was for me to be sure that _she's _sure, I guess letting her get hit on by another man isn't such a bad thing.

And yeah, I'm back to being a moron again because if she actually picks him over me, I don't know what I'll do.

_But if she picks me even knowing she __**could**__ have him,_ my mind supplied. _Then that's a good thing, right?_

It'll mean she doesn't just love me because I'm the only man she has time for, but because I'm the one she wants.

And yeah, this whole thing is just _so _messed up.

I didn't see her again that afternoon, but I couldn't stop thinking about her all night. The next morning, I got to work early, but she wasn't there. I sat and stared at her empty chair, wondering what she's doing and who she's with, and then I mentally berated myself because I'm the one who left her with him yesterday.

It's like I'm begging her to find someone else.

And then she walked into the squad room with Fucking Peter.

And apparently, they'd gone to talk to our suspect.

Without me.

I stared at them nonplussed while they tag-teamed their recount, and then I asked, "You went to see Larry?"

"Well, yeah," Eames answered, and I saw her hesitate, like it finally hit her that she should've said something to me.

"Oh. Okay."

"I ran into Peter downstairs and he had a lead on where he might be, so…" she explained.

"It's fine," I said, even though it's _not_ fine, and I have this sinking feeling that she didn't just run into him in 1PP but maybe they woke up together. In her bed.

And now he's just standing there smiling at me…like he knows I know.

And I want to kill him.

It's weird, because I had no idea before now what a jealous person I am.

No, I take that back.

I had no idea before _Eames_ what a jealous person I am.

Because the thought of her with someone else…it's debilitating and all-consuming and depressing as hell.

I _really_ need to hurry up and finish this case so that I can get down on my knees and beg her to forgive me for being so stupid, and then I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.

So I got a handle on my emotions and the three of us went in to talk to Larry.

I made a point of sitting next to Peter so that Eames couldn't.

And then I focused on the interview.

After a few minutes with Larry, I realized that he's not our killer, even though he doesn't mind letting us think so. He's interested in being a martyr.

I guess that's something I can relate to.

We took a break from talking to him, and after a brief and hostile meeting with Ross and the ADA, Eames said she was going to run downstairs for some coffee.

"I'll come with you," Peter offered immediately, already heading for the elevator as if he knew she wouldn't say no.

She paused for a moment, looking back at me, but I waved them off and went to my desk. I'm not going to be a third wheel, and the last thing I want to do is spend more time watching him fall all over himself to get her attention.

Later, after their coffee date and after they came back to look over the protest footage and after we talked to Malia about her night with Larry, Ross stopped by my desk. Eames had left just a moment ago, and I'd watched her walk away, feeling desperate and bereft and lonely. So I wasn't in the mood for Ross. I was even less so after I heard what he had to say.

"So Eames and the interpreter, huh?"

"What?" I asked as I shifted my gaze to him, finding him watching me with something that looked like amusement. Or triumph, maybe.

"Seems like those two are hitting it off. Good for her. She deserves a good man."

After his irritating and completely random proclamation, he continued on to his office, and I leaned back in my chair and sighed heavily.

A good man.

Someone _not_ me.

_But she loves me_, I argued with myself. She said so.

And Eames doesn't lie.

So why the hell did I dispute her feelings in the first place? Why didn't I just pick her up and carry her off to my bedroom instead of sending her on her way?

_God, if I had it to do over again…_

The next day, we broke open the case.

The pieces started falling into place, and after Larry disputed Malia's offered alibi, we decided to bring in Tommy and Malia to see if we could play them against each other in order to get to the truth.

I could feel the atmosphere change as we began unraveling their stories. Or maybe it's just that I'm so desperate to talk to Eames that I want this case to be over, I don't know.

I can't remember a time when I wasn't totally immersed in a case, from beginning to end. I can't remember anyone or anything ever being more important than getting the solve.

But Eames is.

So even though I was both sad and happy to hear Tommy's confession, I was already thinking about what to say to Eames.

After the officers led Tommy away, and after we explained to Malia what would come next for him, the three of us were alone in the room.

Me and Eames and Fucking Peter.

I don't know why he couldn't just leave, but he didn't look to be in any hurry, and it's not like I can ask Eames about anything personal while he's sitting right there, but I was also afraid to leave because what if she doesn't follow me? What if she stays in here with him and then he asks her out?

So I maintained my position, firmly in between the two of them, and I pulled out my cell phone.

And I typed her a text.

_**It's time to talk, right? The paperwork can wait. Meet me at the car in ten minutes.**_

After I hit the send button, I thought maybe I should've said please or something, but I'm not feeling accommodating at the moment. I just want her. And I want to be in a place where I can _show_ her how much I want her.

"So, Alexandra," Peter began as I heard Eames' phone buzz. "Nice work on the case."

_Yeah because I didn't do anything at all,_ I thought in irritation.

"Thank you," she said. "Bobby and I are usually pretty good at getting our man."

I glanced over at Peter and flashed him a smile, loving how Eames included me in that assessment, but she still hasn't looked at her phone yet, so I turned back to her and said, "Eames, wasn't that your phone?"

She looked at me curiously, but pulled it out anyway as Peter said, "Maybe we could go get some dinner. You know, to celebrate closing the case."

"Thanks, but I have to pass," I said, even though I know he didn't mean me. I watched Eames' face as she read my text, and I think I detected a hint of a smile.

She put her phone away without typing a response, and then she looked over at Peter and said, "Actually, I have plans tonight. Some other time, maybe."

I felt like hopping up from the chair and shouting that her plans are with me, kind of like an _in your face_ kind of thing, but I'm sure that would come across as rather juvenile, so I refrained.

Barely.

Instead, I put a smile on my face, a mostly sincere one considering what I was about to say, and then I offered my hand out to Peter and said, "It was nice working with you. We'll be sure to call you if we find ourselves in need of an interpreter."

He shook it somewhat reluctantly and then I left the room.

I'm not sure what Eames will say to him after I'm gone, but I honestly don't care.

Because she's meeting _me_ in the car in ten minutes.

It turned out to be more like twelve, and those last two minutes sent me into a full-fledged panic, but I guess I deserve it in light of how I've been acting lately.

"Sorry," she said as she got into the passenger seat.

Because yeah, I already positioned myself behind the wheel.

I'm making a statement here.

"Peter didn't want to say goodbye?" I asked with a smirk.

"No, Ross snagged me before I could get to the elevator."

"Oh. Everything okay?"

"It's fine," she said. "He…um…he made mention of the fact that now that the case is over, there's no conflict of interest. If I want to date Peter."

She held my gaze as she said the words, and I could tell that she was fighting back a smile, but I just want to kill Ross for sticking his nose into her personal life.

"And you said..."

"I said I'd keep that in mind," she answered.

I nodded slowly, my eyes still locked on hers, and even though my insides are tied up in knots at the moment, I can't help but think that she's just _so _pretty.

"Or not," I replied, reaching out and settling my palm against her cheek.

"We're still at work," she said softly, even though she made no move to pull away.

"I don't care. I've been counting the seconds until this case was over, and I can't wait anymore."

"Okay," she said carefully.

She watched me expectantly, and it hits me that I'm so lucky to have her because she's _here,_ giving me a chance to redeem myself.

She hasn't quit on me.

She'll never quit on me.

_Because she loves me._

So even though I can't literally get on my knees, I did the next best thing. I told her how I feel.

"I love you. And insisting that you step back…it was the dumbest thing I've ever done, and…"

That was all I got out before she kissed me.

Right there in the department vehicle, in the parking garage.

And it wasn't quick, either.

She moved over to me and put both hands on my face and then kissed me with unchecked desire and desperation, and I couldn't get her close enough because I really needed to feel her body against mine, but the damn steering wheel and console were in the way, and I wondered for the millionth time why I ever thought it was a good idea to push her away.

"Don't ever do that again," she said after reluctantly ending the kiss and retreating back to her side of the car.

"Let you kiss me?" I asked playfully because for the first time in two weeks, I feel alive and happy.

"You know what I'm talking about," she replied sternly, but she has a smile playing on her lips and damn if _she_ doesn't look happier than she has in two weeks, too.

"Yes, I do," I said genuinely as I reached for her hand. "And I won't. If you're crazy enough to love me, then who am I to argue?"

"Exactly."

"So…we're good?" I asked, amazed at her ability to forgive and forget.

Although maybe the fact that she can is because she understands me so well. She knows my quirks and my neuroses, and she's adept at weathering the storm until I find my way.

Not that I want her to have to weather anything, but still…she loves me enough to do it.

And I love her enough to…well, enough to do absolutely anything.

"We're good," she assured me as she squeezed my hand meaningfully. "Now take me home. I told Peter I'd meet him for dinner."

I was turning the key when she made the remark, but I glanced at her quickly to find her smirking at me.

"Ha ha," I said with a smile. "You think you're so funny."

She grinned back at me - my pretty Eames - and I couldn't resist leaning over to kiss her.

It was brief but heated and filled with emotion.

"I love you," I told her again, my lips still hovering near hers.

"I love you, too."

And even though it's the third time she's told me, it's the first time that it really, really sinks in.

I kissed her again, and then pulled away and put the car in gear.

"So…your place or mine?" I asked her.

"Yours. I've missed your bed."

"Just the bed? Or the man in it?" I fished.

"Oh, just the bed," she quipped.

"Uh huh. You want to go to my place in case Peter shows up at yours," I ventured, wanting to get my lingering feelings of jealousy over him out of the way.

By this time, I was stopped at the exit, waiting to pull out, so I turned to look at her as she smiled and said, "Peter who?"

She always knows the exact right thing to say.

I smiled back at her and pulled out onto the street, and once we were several blocks from 1PP, she scooted over and leaned her head against my shoulder.

"It's not the bed," she said quietly. "It's definitely you."

God, I've missed her so much.

"We've got some catching up to do, don't we?"

"Uh huh," she agreed as she ran her hand over my thigh. "Two weeks' worth. Well, if we ever get home. You should've let me drive."

I love that she's anxious to get there because so am I. I want to be able to _show_ her how much I want her, how much I love her.

"You drive when we're working. I'm trying to make a statement here," I teased.

"What, that you drive like an old man?" she asked playfully, her hand inching further up my thigh. "Step on the gas, Bobby."

So I did.

**The End**


End file.
